


Five Crimes

by saltwatergirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternative-Universe, Angst, Five Times Story, Homophobic Language, M/M, POV Outsider, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:06:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltwatergirl/pseuds/saltwatergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five people witness Liam and Zayn’s relationship over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Crimes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Equallydestructive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/equallydestructive) for the beta.

#### I

Pippa was going to be late for that stupid interview. She couldn't understand why her editor insisted on doing a story on an unknown group who hadn't even won the craptastic reality show that they were on. A freakin' boyband. In 2010? Christ. She was late because her now ex-boyfriend had figured Tuesday evening was a great day to go out to a pub with his good-for-nothing mates and then stumble into their flat at four in the morning, frighten her cat, and break her signed Staind record. After that, Daniel had needed to go. There was so much she could put up with. His killer smile, his rock-god locks, and the fact that he was the drummer for the Dai$edSkullz did not compensate for the fact that he was an arsehole, like, ninety-nine percent of the time. She'd missed the first tube headed out to London and the next one had been fifteen minutes late, which had all culminated in her hobbling in high heels through Kent Street, trying to flag down a taxi, failing, then opting to run/hobble the rest of the five kilometres. She glanced at her wrist watch and she grimaced as she pulled out her Blackberry and dialled the crew. Lester, her cameraman, picked up on the first ring.

" 'Ello?" he said.

"Lest, I'm running a bit late for the No Direction interview." Pippa said as she crossed a busy street. "Please apologise for me and tell them that there’s an illness in my family. My aunt - no, make it my gran. I'll be there in about five minutes."

"And what's in it for me, love?" he asked, his voice all types of skeeviness. Lester was a troll. He was short, balding, and had a voice that made your ears bleed from its all too high pitch. His breath stunk like what she imagined the Thames smelt like during the Black Plague; a dozen variations of foul. Yet, he imagined himself a ladies man and always hit on any fit woman he met, herself included.

"I'll owe you?" she said.

"You bet your sweet cheeks you'll owe me."

Pippa rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the twinge in her heel that told her that she would have a blister forming by the end of the day. "Consider your request granted." He hung up.

She arrived at the Stellen road office more than forty minutes late. Her carefully styled hair was every which way and the front of her shirt wrinkled from where she had been holding her laptop bag tight to her chest. One can never be too careful with the big city sorts.

The receptionist notified her where the camera crew had been set up. Before she went, she took a detour to the ladies room to fix her hair. She dabbed sweat off her face and put on a fresh coat of lipstick.  She left looking for Room Three where the boyband was seated. Walking into the room, she glanced at her slightly wrinkled notes noting their name-One Direction- and the questions sent to her by her editor. One Direction was seated in an interview formation in the centre of the room, quietly talking amongst themselves. Three of them in the front, two at the back. She vaguely recognised some of their faces from the X-factor television spots she had seen when flipping through channels. They looked just as young, green and annoying as they had been on the telly. Thanks again, stupid editor.

She was certain she had their names jotted down (somewhere in her stack of notes), _God dammit, where was that page again?!_

“Hi lads!” Pippa said as brightly as she could manage. She could wing this. Pippa sat down on the chair opposite them as she apologised for being late. She indicated to Lester that he could start rolling.

"So, how has life been since the show ended?" She asked the group while she tried to find her notes. The one who she could describe as vaguely attractive answered. His name started with a L…Leon? Judging from how all the other boys turned to him he must be the leader of the group. The blind leading the blind. _Fantastic._

"It's been amazing. The fans have been sending us well wishes on Twitter. They're really worried that we'll be breaking up," He turned to face Lester's camera directly, "and we can assure you that One Direction is staying together."

Pippa nodded absently. She found the page with her notes. Louis, was his name. "I'm sure your fans are pleased to hear that, Louis." She read the next question. "What do you guys look for in a prospective girlfriend?" The girlish one with the curly mop of hair decided to answer. As she read through the rest of the questions that she had been given, Pippa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. This was stupid. She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be working at Virgin Music where the pulse of the music revolution was beating. That was where it was at–not interviews with pigeon-chested untalented poptards. But a job was a job and she had to work hard at it. Putting on her most brilliant smile she forged ahead with the interview.

***

It was later, when she and Lester were editing the interview for the website that she saw it. The one with the deep voice and the bad Bieber cut, Liam and the mixed-race one, Zayn. They were seated at the back, leaving most of the questions to be answered by Louis, Niall and Harry. Video Harry was answering a question (what was his favourite subject in school?) when it happens. It's a few seconds, so brief that she could’ve missed it. As Harry spoke, Zayn reached over to place his fingers on Liam’s inner wrist, tapping it lightly before beginning to draw languid circles. Liam’s expression didn’t change, but he leaned a little to grant the other boy better access to his hand. Romancing each other completed, they stayed close, shoulders pressed tight. Pippa rolled her eyes.

"Nobody needs to see that," she told Lester and he obligingly cut to camera two. The boys, although sweet in their own right and sort of charming, did not have the current edge that all the big acts needed now. They'd be lucky if they had half a good a run as Westlife. Maybe they'd release an album and do a few tours around the country, maybe hit Wales, Ireland (home turf for one of them), and Scotland, but they didn't have the _oomph_ to play in the big leagues. Sad, but true.

#### II

Working at the Copenhagen Hilton felt like a dream to Danuta sometimes. It wasn't a glamorous job in the reception. She wasn't one of the pencil skirts and high heel wearing managers. She didn't don a pressed white shirt and black pants like the waitresses in the kitchen downstairs. As a maid, she was the lowest rung on a very tall ladder. Yet she didn't care. She was blessed. She really was.

Five years ago when she had answered a job ad looking for Polish girls to work in the service industry in Denmark, she had been apprehensive. She'd heard the stories. Young Polish girls being lured to the big cities and other countries to be used as whores. Her mother had been ill, her young sisters about to start secondary school, and there had been no money coming in. With no other prospect, she got a passport, said a prayer, and had hoped that whatever waited for her was not too unbearable. She prayed that she would have least have something to send back home. The rest was negligible. Her prayer had been answered and the agency that had gotten her into the country found her work as hired help in hotels around the city. The jobs were low paying, but the money had been enough to send Katrina to school and get her mother access to a private physician.

When she left, the agency had given her a glowing recommendation and she had found herself working at the Copenhagen Hilton, the highest-rated hotel in the city. It was where dignitaries, royalty, and the ultra-wealthy stayed when they visited the city, and what was really nice about dignitaries, royalty, and the ultra-wealthy was that they tipped rather well.

She knew that some of the people were popular and she'd see their fans loitering outside the front of the hotel, hoping to get a glimpse of them. Then there were those annoying journalists with the big cameras who also liked to hang around, but they favoured the back entrances and the side of the building where staff smoked during the breaks. The paparazzi were always pestering them to take photos or go through the garbage of the esteemed guests. They offered them money, but working at the Hilton meant signing a contract as thick as her mother's bible. Danuta's English wasn't good but the stern looks and the repeated phrase 'non-disclosure' had been clear enough. They had to keep what they witnessed top secret.

***

What Danuta had seen before didn’t prepare her for what she saw when she arrived to work that morning. The entire street was packed with young women to the point that there was no feasible way for her to enter the hotel. As she tried to squeeze through the crowd, she felt a heavy arm drop on her shoulder.

"Please step back, Miss," a young policeman said.

"I work here," she said, pulling on her employee card. He inspected it, his pale blue eyes narrowing before he nodded.

"Follow after me." He guided her through the singing crowd and into the hotel. As she stepped inside she asked Anke, the receptionist, what was going on.

"They're here for One Direction," Anke said leaning across her long reception desk to take a look at the crowd outside, "they’ve been singing and being an utter nuisance since three this morning."

"One Direction, the boy group?" Danuta asked.

“Yes,’’ Anke said. “it’s so strange that these girls are allowed by their parents to be out so late. Or early, depending on how you look at it. Either way, it’s not safe.’’ Danuka nodded in agreement. The city was fairly safe but all types of things could happen to a young girl out alone; she knew from experience. Out through the glassed turnstile entrance she could still see the girls, pushing and pulling at one another, being held back by the police barricades. She thanked Anke and went to the lockers to change for her shift.

***

Danuta was pushing her cleaning trolley down the hall when she saw them.

Upon her arrival at the hotel, she had partaken in the four week long ‘services training and code of conduct’ programme. The head of the cleaning staff had told them countless times throughout on how to treat the guests. One of the rules was if they happen to come across a guest doing something that they may not want to be witnessed, staff always had to let the guest decide how to proceed.

So when Danuta saw the two boys, her first instinct was to stand still, hand on the trolley to stop it from rolling further. She recognised them from the posters the girls outside had been holding. Liam and Zayn.

Zayn was leaving Liam's room and judging from the way he could not remove his lips from Liam's, it appeared it was a difficult task for him. Liam had his arms over Zayn's shoulders and held him in a tight embrace.

"I wish you didn't have to go," he said. He pulled Zayn closer to him, whispering something that caused the other boy to laugh. Danuta was about to reverse her trolley where she’d come from when he noticed her. He instantly dropped his arms from around Zayn and stepped back. Zayn, sensing that someone was there, turned around and saw. He also stepped back.

"Uh, thanks for helping me with that, Liam." he said, lifting his hand in an awkward goodbye wave.

"You're...welcome?" Liam waved back. Danuta reversed the trolley and hurried back into the service elevator, wishing she hadn't interrupted them, and hoping they didn't send a complaint to the hotel manager.

***

Midday arrived and Danuta had to do her cleaning rounds. She had been assigned One Direction’s floor and before she could enter their rooms to clean, her employee ID was inspected and verified by a huge man on watch in the halls. Once he was satisfied she was who she claimed to be, he confiscated her cellphone and allowed her into the rooms.

The first room was on the left to the one Zayn was sneaking out of that morning. To say it was messy would be an understatement. Clothes and shoes were scattered on the floor, there were half eaten pizza on the bed, and the duvet and pillows were scattered all over the suite as if someone had had a pillow fight and lost badly. It took almost twice her normal room cleaning time.

Next up was Liam's room. His was in a much better state. There were no clothes in sight and he'd even attempted to make the bed. Only when she  pulled the sheets back she realised why.

On the centre of the white cotton sheet were stains. One doesn't work as a maid as long as she had without getting an idea what those type of stains were. There was also a palm print-sized smudge of what looked like drying lubricant. Danuta pulled off the sheets and made the bed with new, fresh sheets, placing the square of Swiss chocolate on the pillow. She emptied out the bin, noting the two square condom foil wrappers that were at the bottom of it. The bathroom was cleaned next where she replenished the soap and shower gel.  After vacuuming, dusting, and replenishing the mini-bar, she went to the next room.

Liam's right next-door neighbour had to be Zayn. It was evident from the pristinely-made bed that it hadn't been slept in. In fact, there was nothing to indicate that someone was occupying the room. The only thing she had to do was vacuum and dust.

The rest of the day was uneventful and she left the hotel that late evening making her way through the crowd outside.

***

The next morning, she decided to do her morning rounds half an hour earlier. The boys must have decided to bid farewell to each other earlier as well because as she turned the corner, she was greeted to what was now a familiar sight; Zayn and Liam kissing. This time she didn't pause and gape; she kept pushing the trolley, wishing the hinge wasn't so loud.

"Good morning," she said to them as she pushed passed with the trolley. Danuta smiled to herself because the way they jumped away from each other was a bit comical. She continued on her way, not looking back to see how they would 'save' the situation.

***

 

When she did her midday cleaning, she started with the messy one first. It belonged to Louis, and this, she deduced, by the striped shirts and suspenders strewn around; in all the posters, Louis was the only one who wore suspenders. She did Harry, Niall, and Zayn's next. Zayn's bed still hadn’t been slept in. She cleaned Liam's room last, changing the bed sheet, vacuuming, and put fresh clean covers on. The bathroom was done next and when she went through the checklist, she realised she had forgotten the chocolates that the hotel was revered for. She pulled out her supplies and placed one chocolate on the right pillow. She looked at it for a moment and smiled, remembering how wide their eyes had been when she greeted them that morning. They needed to know that she wasn't judging them. She pulled out the second chocolate and placed it on the second pillow, where it belonged, right next to its sweetheart.

Smiling, she gathered her trolley and pushed it out the room.

#### III

Chuck Misskelly couldn’t get it. These girls would do anything, literally anything, to get to meet those skinny punks he was being paid to guard. Like, take this broad he was talking to at the moment. Nice titties in a tank top, tan skin, big Angelina Jolie lips. Smokin' hot. Yet every other word coming out of those dick sucking lips was One Direction.

"Who's the funniest in One Direction?" she was asking, twirling the tips of her blonde hair on her fingers.

"Louis," he says, leaning back on the fence. His answer was automatic. Personally he found none of those punks funny. He could hardly hear what they were saying half the time what with those funny accents they had. But, he'd been present for a lot of the interviews so he knew that short shit considered himself the second coming of sass.

"I knew it," she breathes. Looking around the empty parking lot she eases a practiced flirtatious smile on her face. "So, is there anyway you could, like, let me to, like, see them?"

"No." God, not this shit again. Everywhere he went since he got this gig he'd had to put up with it. He knew he was lucky that Vinny had hooked him up with a fake ID and none of his time at Rikers had been picked up in the background check. He'd grown his hair out and shaved the beard, had some laser surgery to burn off the lightning bolt tattoo on his arms, the Celtic cross on his neck, and the hundred percent on his hand. He'd left the rest of his tats, figuring he'd never have to take his shirt off on the job. There weren't too many jobs a man of his skill set could get that would pay him this much dough; definitely not any legal ones anyway. He still used his six foot seven frame to intimidate and push people into line. Instead of druggies, it was now barely legal tweens screaming and crying over those no-talents. Pussy, pussy everywhere and not a drop to drink. Fuck his life.

Miss fake tits was pouting.

"Please, I won't tell anyone," she licked her lips, "I could really make it worth your while." He slowly looked her up and down. She was young, but not like the other nubiles he had seen offering up BJs, HJs and probably ATMs to get to their idols. Despite the nice rack, she was not the type of meal he had been hurting for, but it had been a while since he had a release other than his own hand. The last time he'd had a dry spell that long, he'd been in prison and there—well, it was prison. He did what he had to do. Plus, it wasn’t not like any of these punks would even know what to do with a broad like this. They tried to hide it, that brown one and crop headed one, Zayn and Liam, rock-gods to the clueless, but he'd seen them creeping around on the DL far too many times. A pair of fudgepackers were what they were. The only BJs and HJs they are interested in are from each another.

"Come back later at nine," he told her, "come through the back and ask for ChuckMisskelly." The smile she gave him was radiant and he pushed himself off the wall, walking back to the tour bus, thinking how those lips would look wrapped around his dick. It was far too easy. Like his old man used to say, waste, not want not. If those faggots were not interested in the tail being thrown at them, he didn't mind having at it. He thought about the other girls, the ones with chests that were still blooming, who wore Macy make-up trying to look older. Still unsullied. Still pure. His type. Those girls were willing to do anything to get closer to their idols. He grins, slow and predatorily.

No, he hardly minded having at it at all.

#### IV

If his knee hadn't started acting up, Niall would never have returned to the tour bus hours earlier than scheduled. He, Harry, and Louis had been out at Harry's footballer mate's house when Niall felt the familiar twinge in his right knee, telling him he had done far too much jumping around on stage. He tried to ignore it, but the dull ache became a burning throb and he knew if he didn't treat it with the physiotherapy rubber band, he’d be hobbling about tomorrow.

He excused himself, wished Harry's friend good luck with the match he had coming on Friday, and the friend graciously thanked him. The bodyguard, the weird one, Chuck, drove him back to the lot where the tour bus was parked. Niall thanked him, wished him a good night, and let himself in the bus. He grabbed a few snacks from the well-stocked fridge in the kitchenette and was balancing them in his arms about to head to his bunk bed when he heard it. Moaning. Of the sexual variety.

Girls were strictly prohibited from the tour bus and so far the lads had adhered to that rule. Which meant whoever was moaning was doing it solo–and they said _he_ was the horny troll of the group. Niall tiptoed in, placing his food on the counter. He pushed the screen doors open and looked around, seeing that the only bunk bed with the curtain drawn close was Zayn's. He smiled and was preparing to pull back Zayn's curtain and scream "smile, you're on candid camera", when he heard shuffling and a low whisper. That was Liam in there with Zayn; Niall recognised the deep cadence of his voice and would know it anywhere. Not that he had heard it as it was now, rough and low, as he pleaded for Zayn to fuck him harder.

Niall face flushed and he froze in place. He really needed to exercise his knee but there was no way he would break up the party that was occurring on that bed by letting them know someone else was in the bus with them. What to do? What to fucking do? The rhythmic quaking of the bed became more intense and he spotted the sole of Liam's oversized foot peeking out below the curtain partition. Shit, shit, shit.  By sounds of things, Zayn had granted Liam’s request and was giving it to him really hard, the poor single bed squeaking under their combined weight. Judging by the increased tempo they were almost done. His knee was screaming out in protest for bearing his weight for so long.

Niall slowly turned around, easing the screen door shut as quietly as he could, he collected his food and went outside the bus where Chuck was doing his bodyguard duty. Niall inadvertently caught his eye and he saw Chuck flash uneven, yellow teeth at him. God, that bloke was weird—and creepy. First thing tomorrow he had to speak to Paul about him. He'd seen him being too friendly with some of the competition winners that they had met up with this morning. To avoid having to make conversation with him, Niall pretended to type on his phone. Something about the creeper’s too sly smirk told him that the perve had more than an inkling about what was occurring back in the bus. Niall sat down on the bus steps, checking his emails.

How had he not seen it before? He raked his memory, trying to see if he had seen any clues that Zayn and Liam were a thing. Sure they were tight and hung out a lot, but so were the rest of them. They all got on well. Why hadn't they told him? He was their friend. Did they think he would blab and tell people? At this stage they all pretty much had enough dirt on each other to make the juiciest E!Hollywood story ever told. They were all in it together. If one of them went down, they would all sink united. It hurt to think that there were things being kept from him.

After ten minutes had lapsed, Niall put his phone away and returned into the bus, making sure to make as much noise as possible. He sang loudly as he walked into the sleeping area. Liam was standing next to his bunk bed, pulling on a shirt over his flushed chest. Zayn's curtain was pulled asunder and he was in his bed, shirtless, headphones that weren't plugged to anything attached to his ears. Niall smiled brightly at them, pretending not to notice the large lovebites on Liam's neck, or the scent of sex that still lingered in the air.

"Anyone care for a snack?" Niall held out a bag of Fritos. Zayn declined while Liam took a handful.

"You're back early," Liam made quick work of demolishing his handful and reached into the foil bag for more, "how’s your evening? Anything interesting happen?"

Niall shrugged. "Nothing interesting. Nothing at all."

#### V

Having famous parents who had a tendency to spoil her rotten meant Maisara had resources that weren't available to most fans. Firstly, she knew she could get easy access to any hotel by dropping her name. Secondly, when she needed something, like, say the first edition of One Direction's Midnight Memories on vinyl, she received it because money spoke loudly to desperate ex-Directioners on eBay. Third, if she wanted her newly acquired album to be couriered overnight from Scotland to London on the same day it happened, even though courier orders made after twelve PM only arrived the following day, but exceptions, like always, were made to her. She was almost something akin to royalty in some circles, which led her not being too fussed to play the role of Pampered Princess when she had to.

They were staying at the Ritz. She had already booked a room on the same floor as them and checked in shortly after four PM. Her source told her that they were going to some award ceremony until seven, which was perfect. Maisara went to her room and changed into the outfit she had brought with her. The receptionist had slipped her a room number copy and once she had changed from her tacky street clothes, she collected her record and promptly moved to the room adjacent to her's. After gaining entrance by means of her ill-obtained key, she used the room phone to dial the concierge, requesting that dinner be set up for two. She wanted the full works—roses, champagne and a full course meal. Half an hour later there was a knock on the door, a bellboy -okay bellman, paused and gaped at her. She was fourteen and looked it. Certainly not who he was expecting to be ordering such a lavish meal.

"Your order, um, Miss," he said graciously as he recovered from his gaping. Maisara rolled her eyes and left the door open before she sat back down in front of the telly. The bellman rolled the table in, lit the candles, and as graciously as he entered, he left. That Channel 4 teen soap her dad never allowed her to watch was on. He insisted that it was not suited to anyone who had a brain. Having seen the ‘previously on’, she was inclined to believe him. Real sensible, her dad was. The phone rang and she answered it.

"They're here," the receptionist said. Maisara sprung up, fussing her hair into place, and ensuring the gift was close on hand. Moments later there were voices beyond the door and they were walking in—

"Happy Anniversary!" Maisara shouted, gesturing to the table that was set out. Her father's eyes were wide and confused, but her other dad whispered something in his ear and they laughed.

"You guys planned this?" he asked, taking off his leather jacket and hanging it up on the coat stand.

"Yup," she did a little twirl, "are you surprised?"

"Definitely. So that boring award ceremony was the distraction?" her father asked.

"Correct again, babe." her dad said, as he pulled out a chair. "Please take a seat and enjoy this romantic meal that Maisara has plotted so well for us to have."

"I got you guys a present," she handed her dad the vinyl album, "I know how you always said you like the album art and since I puked on the one we had when I was a baby, I got you a replacement." The way his eye crinkled at the corner made her feel that she had given him the best gift ever. He turned the cover to read the tracklist.

"God, this really takes me back." Her dad handed the album to her father who shrunk away.

"I don’t need to see that. What the hell were we thinking when we did that styling for the photoshoot?" her father said, after he took the record, giving the cover a cursory glance before cringing.

"Unstylish thoughts, apparently," Maisara said.

"It's got our song on it," Her dad leaned down to nuzzle at her father's neck, the chevrons on his forearms being exposed by the tug of his dress shirt, "we really did figure it out, yeah?"

"Eventually." They kissed.

"Ewww, now I have to get to my room before you start spoon feeding each other." She heard them laugh as she left the room. Pleased, that her plan had gone well, Maisara returned to her room and pulled out her worn copy of her parents’ film. She inserted her copy of _This Is Us_ into the Blu-ray player.She settled on the couch to watch the story of how her parents had been brought together ages ago.

The scenes of them and her grandparents always managed to make her tear up a bit. Her parents, decades younger, so different but familiar all the same. Maisara watched them, noting how achingly young and earnest they were, as they talked about how dreams come true.

And then, her favourite part, she watched her parents, slowly but surely, doing the unexpected-falling in love.

 

**THE END**

 


End file.
